


doesn’t it hurt yet

by cryinghoe



Category: Original Work
Genre: 3 AM Vents, 3 am, F/M, Why Did I Write This?, writer’s block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryinghoe/pseuds/cryinghoe
Summary: party!





	doesn’t it hurt yet

hazel eyes look around the colorful room. it’s bright, the disco light blinds his optics. the brunette is curled carefully and delicately in the corner of the dusty old couch. bushed eyebrow goes upward, watching plump pink lips wrap around the black juul. 

he wishes she wasn’t traumatized, but he couldn’t help the way her cousin eyed her or the way her sister’s boyfriend attempted multiple times.

no smoke clouds the air around her—her zero was impressive.

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her feet curl into the couch, holding her stable. brown hair curls in her peripheral vision, lights flashing all around her. she’s perched atop of the couch, like a cat in the night. he sits below her, silent as everyone interacts.

she hopes nobody notices the way her hand drapes to his broad shoulder, covered by a blue sweatshirt. he doesn’t react...

she mentally notes his reactions, she knows it can be difficult sometimes. social batteries run quick.

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𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝘂𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗻  
𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆  
𝗥𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿  
𝗗𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗜 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘂𝘁

𝙞𝙙𝙠  
𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙛𝙛

𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗵  
𝗛𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆, 𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙮

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she can’t explain the pain of her heart when they text. why doesn’t anything make SENSE?

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he walks around his room, feet digging into the carpet occasionally. the little animal of his scurries beneath him, happily honking for attention. she sits on his mattress, palm holding her chin. she stares at the back of his blonde head, dark optics glancing around the room when he glances back to her.

the air is stiff, but comfortable. like the sleeping bag you can’t move in, but want to stay in because it’s warm and encasing, similar to a hug.

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𝗪𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻.

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her back slams into the locker, leg inching up his waist. his large hand holds her there, tongue licking into her mouth. their tongues fight in a passionate war, heavily breathing.

she pulls back, eyelids heavy. he’s panting, hand grasping the firm muscle of her thigh.

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he glances up to her, avoiding the disco light perfectly. her dark hair drapes down over her, as she’s perched on the couch with her hand resting upon his shoulder.

𝗜’𝗺 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱.

𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙.

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𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙇.


End file.
